Enchanted: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #8): A Fake Fiancée Romance

by Ainsley St Claire

  “I do find it odd that your father was surrounded by pedophiles and didn’t know or, if he did know, didn’t do anything about it.”

  “Well, I think it’s the first option. But you’d have to know my dad to understand. He’s a well-liked guy. Smart as a whip but probably has a really low emotional intelligence score. He doesn’t read body language well or pay attention to things around him. His mind is always on his next invention. They’re his babies.”

  “I have a brother like that,” she sympathizes.

  She picks up her phone and makes the call. “Hello, this is Marci Peterson. My client is ready to meet with you. Do you have time in about an hour?” She listens a few moments and nods her head. “Yes, I have your address. We’ll see you then.”

  My palms feel wet all of a sudden, and my stomach does a summersault. “Now I’m nervous.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Now let’s talk about what to expect.”

  She runs through everything, and then we walk down to meet Gerald who drives us into downtown to the Federal Building. When we get out of the car, I straighten my suit coat and take a deep breath. It’s not like they’re going to arrest me, but this very well could destroy everything my great-grandfather built. Taking a few more deep breaths, I collect myself, and we walk in. There’s a large woman sitting behind the desk with two armed guards standing behind her.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Marci Peterson. Terrence Wood is expecting us.”

  “Just a moment.” She picks up the phone and announces us. When she’s done, she asks for our ID’s.

  “I don’t suppose you know Matilda in the San Francisco office?” Marci asks.

  She looks up, surprised. “Yes, she’s my cousin. I got her the job there.”

  “I knew you must be related. The resemblance is uncanny.”

  She hands us back our ID’s and, as nice as can be, points us to the security check-in before the elevators. “Dana will meet you just beyond the metal detectors and will take you upstairs.”

  “Thank you, I can’t wait to tell Matilda we met,” Marci says.

  “I’m going to email her right now,” she says, and I swear she winked at Marci.

  “Well, that was surprising.”

  We walk up to a conveyor belt and are asked to put our bags through the X-ray machine, and we walk through. Once we’re through, a short, dark-haired woman approaches us and extends her hand. “Dana Bucannon.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Bucannon. I’m Marci Peterson, and this is William Bettencourt.” We follow her to the elevator and take it to the fourth floor. When we walk out, we’re escorted to a room with no windows and a mirror on the wall. I know this is when it gets serious.

  Terrance Wood walks in, as does Agent Michael McGraw and his unnamed partner. I’m surprised to see them. They introduce themselves, and the unnamed agent calls himself Brendan Phillips. I inform Marci, “Agents McGraw and Phillips are the ones who interviewed me regarding the supposed Ponzi scheme.”

  “I see. Are you both with the Civil Rights Unit or Financial Crimes?”

  Agent McGraw looks at me and informs us, “We’re with the CRU. We wanted to know what you knew.”

  After introductions, Marci begins. “Mr. Bettencourt recently learned of his father’s death following a helicopter crash in Tanzania. He received a letter”—she passes the letter to them—“and a safe-deposit box key to a private bank in San Francisco. When he opened the box, this is what was inside.” She pushes the box across the table at them. “We’ve digitized the videos and Mr. Bettencourt has identified five of the twenty-three men on the tapes.” She sits quietly, and I’m uncomfortable as they stare at her before carefully looking through the box.

  Agent Phillips hands the box to a member of his team, who leaves with it. Turning to me, he asks, “Mr. Bettencourt, tell me about yourself.”

  Marci had warned me they are going to ask me the same questions they’ve asked before, looking for inconsistencies. So, I walk them through what I do and where I live.

  “What was your relationship with your father?” I know they’ve asked this each time I’ve met them, and Marci warned me they would do things like this to ruffle me. I’m glad she warned me since I answer the same question over and over.

  “We weren’t close. We also weren’t estranged. We just didn’t talk often. But this trip to Tanzania was a surprise. My father usually told me where he was going.”

  “Did he climb mountains often?”

  “Yes, he’s proudly climbed all the peaks over fourteen-thousand feet in the US and was working his way across the world.”

  “That’s a lot of climbing.”

  “He enjoyed it. My father was an introvert and a bit of a loner.”

  “I see. Is your father on the tapes you provided?”

  I bristle at the insult. “No, he’s not. My own investigative team has questions about the accident and don’t believe it was an accident but sabotage.”

  “Would it surprise you to find that we think so too?”

  “Given the conversations with your team, no, I’m not surprised.”

  The agent who left early with what we provided steps in and asks to speak with Agent Wood, and he steps out. Agent McGraw remains behind. “You stand to gain from your father’s death.”

  “Maybe. I have to marry my girlfriend and, well, she isn’t really my girlfriend, rather a coworker. But also, I have a trust that I got from my mother on my twenty-fifth birthday, which includes the house on Rittenhouse Square. Money isn’t a motivator to me. And, I might add, I had no idea my father was going to Tanzania.”

  “So you say. Your witness is a pedophile.”

  I cringe at the thought. “You can’t get a rise out of me on this.”

  Agent Wood returns. “Ms. Peterson, Mr. Bettencourt, it appears the information you provided us has closed several holes for us. We will review it further and be making arrests.”

  That was quick. Now it all seems so real. I’m worried about the company and the stockholders. “Do you have a timeline? Since part of the leadership team at Bettencourt Industries will be arrested, I’d like to have a public relations firm ready to save the company that my great-grandfather worked so hard to build.”

  “I suggest you begin that soon, as we don’t want to waste too much time.”

  “I understand.” Almost as an afterthought, I add, “I believe my father was killed because he found this information. He knew he was in trouble when he sent me the key.”

  “I think that may be a fair assessment.”

  We stand to leave.

  “We have your information. I suspect that we’ll be in touch,” Agent McGraw warns me.

  “Thank you.”

  We are escorted down the elevators and to the waiting car. Once we’re inside, Marci grasps my hand. “You did fantastic in there.”

  “I don’t feel like it, but thanks.” I unbutton my coat and sit back. My stomach is unsettled, and my stress levels are through the roof.

  “I’ll fly home today. I think Jim’s team is sticking around for a few days,” Marci informs me.

  “That’s my understanding. I’m going to catch the train into New York City and will be staying in Philly until this thing breaks. We’ll need to find a new CEO and quickly.”

  “I think you’ll have a great spin for the PR agency with what happened to your dad. I don’t feel the stock will lose too much. Much will depend on your next steps.”

  I call Quinn and only get her voice mail. I wish she’d talk to me. I know I’ve not been super attentive, but I have a shit load going on. I hope she understands.

  Given what I now know, I put a call into Dillon. He answers after the first ring. “Hey, man, how’s it going?”

  “It’s going. How are things there?”

  “It’s going here too. What’s up?”

  “I just learned that the CEO and three of twelve members of the board of Bettencourt Industries are going to be arrested in the next few days for human tra
fficking.”

  Dillon whistles. “Wow, that can’t be good.”

  “No, it won’t be. The theory is that my dad was a deep-throat in all this, and it appears he’s behind getting them arrested, only they killed him before he could finish passing the information along.”

  “Ah, man. That really bites.”

  “You’re the best at analyzing the market. Do you think this is going to destroy Bettencourt Industries or do you think that, given my dad was behind ratting them out, that it might just save the company?”

  I hear him clicking on the keyboard. “The CEO owns 10 percent of the shares. There’s a slew of executives who own another 10 percent combined. Your father owned or controlled 40 percent, and the remaining 40 percent are publicly traded. We have to believe that once this hits, the CEO’s going to need cash and will want to sell his 10 percent, but the board would have to sign off on that.”

  “And the company has the ability to buy them back at a specific cost, but I’ll have to look at his agreement. We won’t be out any golden parachute, but he may have to forfeit the shares due to an ethics clause.”

  “So I’m not sure it’s going to take you down when the arrests happen, but I do think if it isn’t handled right, it could go into a death spiral in a few months.”

  “Agreed. Greer has me talking to the best crisis public relations firm in the country, and I’m going to meet with them in the morning.”

  “Good luck, man. When are you back?”

  “I’ll be working from here for the next two or three weeks. Once this shit hits the fan, we’ll have to get a few things taken care of—like finding a new CEO.”

  “I’ll have Emerson reach out to you. We may have some candidates she can push your way.”

  “I didn’t think about that, thanks.”

  We hang up, and I call the PR agency and set a time to meet with them in Manhattan tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. That means catching the 6:05 a.m. train into Penn Station in New York and catching a rideshare over to their offices.

  I let Jim know my plans. “I’d rather we drive you than you take the train.”

  “I understand, but the traffic is so bad we’d have to go tonight.”

  “I’ll figure out an alternative.”

  “Let me know. I need to be down on 5th Avenue by nine.”

  I try Quinn again and get her voice mail. I’m disappointed, but I can’t think about it for very long because, before I know it, Harriet is putting a plate underneath my nose. “You have to eat.”

  “This smells amazing. I can eat with everyone else.” I start to stand.

  “They’ve all eaten. You’ve been so busy you missed dinner.”

  “It’s more jetlag than anything else.” I take a few bites. “Harriett, I miss your amazing cooking so much.”

  “Well, you and Quinn should hurry up and have some babies so I can cook for you every night.”

  “I’m not sure that’s in our future.”

  “Sure, it is. You love her, and she loves you—I could see it the way the two of you looked at each other. It’s like what your parents had so many years ago.” She turns and heads out the door, leaving me to consider what she said. I do love her, but I’m fairly positive that she doesn’t feel the same.

  Jim arrives just as I’m finishing up. “Harriett is a great chef. I wonder if I can get her to move to San Francisco and take care of my team all the time.”

  I give him a look of warning. “You can ask, but I don’t think she’d go.”

  He shrugs. “I have to at least try. Of course, she’s going to fatten my team up at this rate.” He quickly changes subjects. “Listen, we’ve chartered a helicopter to take you into Manhattan. We’ll land at the Downtown Manhattan Heliport where we’ll move you to a Suburban and then take you to your destination. We’ll leave here tomorrow at seven.”

  Okay, I’m not sure I’ve ever commuted to New York via a helicopter. “This should be interesting.”

  I try Quinn a few more times, and I decide that I’ll call when she gets off work, but somehow, I fall asleep watching SportsCenter. I wake with a start and look at my watch, and it’s after three in the morning. Shit! I text Quinn.

  Me: I miss you so much. I’m not sure what I did, but whatever it was I’m sorry. Please talk to me.

  Quinn: You didn’t do anything. I’m just super busy getting some things done. It’s crazy busy right now.

  Me: Can I call you?

  I wait, and she doesn’t respond immediately. Then I see the rotating dots.

  Quinn: Yes.

  My heart beats triple time while the number connects. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself, what are you doing up so late?”

  “It’s been so crazy here. I’m heading into New York in a few hours to meet with the PR team to help handle the disaster that’s going to come raining down on the company.” We discuss everything that happened. I feel so much better talking to her.

  “What about you? What has you so busy?”

  “I have two companies going public next week. I need to do all the prep work for that. And I think they’re getting close to the mole, so that has everyone on pins and needles. You know, same old same old.” The line is quiet for a moment. I should tell her how I feel about her, but I really want to do it face-to-face. She murmurs, “I do wish you were here.”

  “Do you want to come out this weekend and spend it with me?”

  “I don’t know if I can. Can I reserve the right to change my mind?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I need to tell her how much she means to me. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  “What are you wearing?” Okay, I couldn’t help myself. When she snickers into the phone, I know I have her.

  “My pink lacey thong and matching bralette.”

  I groan. I know exactly what she’s talking about. The pink is the perfect color against her skin and is see-through. The bra scoops low, and her areola’s peek out, hiding the nipples behind it. The thong is see-through as well, and I can make out her hairless slit. When she turns around, the small ribbon in the back disappears between her ass cheeks, and when she wore that the last time, it took all my self-control not to bend her over the closest chair and fuck her hard. My cock comes to life.

  “What would you like me to do to you if you were here?” she asks in a coquettish voice.

  “It isn’t what you would do to me, but what I’d like to do to you,” I growl.

  “Tell me what you’re wearing?”

  “I’m in my gray sweatpants and a T-shirt—a Carolina basketball shirt.”

  “Is your cock hard?” she rasps.

  “It is now.”

  “Just imagine me between your legs helping you to remove your sweatpants and boxers. God, your cock is huge. I hold it tight at the base and lick the underside, just the way you like.”

  Just the thought has my hands grasping my cock, and I begin stroking myself. “Does it make you wet?”

  “Yes… and my nipples are achingly hard… Please play with them.”

  I’m breathing heavy as I stroke myself. “Can I lick them?”

  “As long as you bite and pull, too.”

  “Are you playing with yourself?”

  Her breathing is ragged. “Yes… my tongue is licking the end of your cock, and I can taste your precum. Mmmm… it tastes so good.”

  I can hear her moving, and it turns me on to know she’s playing with herself, too.

  “I can hardly get it all in my mouth. Guide me on your cock. Fuck my mouth. Show me how fast you want it. That’s it, baby, you can go faster. Ohh. You taste so good. I’m massaging your balls. Give me what I want…”

  “I’m going to come,” I announce.

  “Send it down my throat,” she murmurs.

  I reach for some tissues and groan loudly as I spurt. “Jesus, woman… you’re amazing.” Now it’s my turn to get her off. “Do you want to come for me?”

  “Please…”

&nbs
p; “I’m going to slip those panties off.”

  “Mmm…”

  “I’m opening your legs wide. You have the most beautiful pussy. It’s glistening and begging to be sucked and fucked. Imagine my fingers running up and down your slit. I’m leaning over, and I take a deep breath. Fuck! You smell divine as I lick from the bottom to the top. You taste like honey. I stop at your hard nub and suck it hard into my mouth. I love you writhing beneath me.”

  “Finger fuck me at the same time,” she begs.

  “Your wish is my command. I’m inserting two fingers to stretch you wide as I suck.” I can hear her breath increasing. I whisper, “Come for me, baby. Come all over my face.”

  An animalistic groan comes from her, and my dick is hard again. Breathing hard into the phone, she shares, “I’ve never actually had a real orgasm with anyone on the phone.”

  “I’ve never had real phone sex. You have quite the talent, but I have to say, it isn’t as good as you being here with me.”

  “I know,” she says wistfully.

  The phone is quiet a few moments. I think of her perfect tits and her legs wrapped around me as I drill deep inside her. I need her with me, of that I have no doubts.

  “I’m tired, so you must be exhausted. I’d better go to bed,” she says.

  “Goodnight, Quinn.”

  “Goodnight.”

  As I hang up, I feel like she’s holding something back from me, but I get it, it’s crazy busy, and I wouldn’t mind getting off this crazy train.

  I drag myself to the bedroom and fall into bed. I don’t sleep well and struggle to get up to meet Jim.

  He hands me a cup of coffee. “You look like you could use this.”

  Taking it from him, I mumble, “Thanks. I fell asleep last night in front of the television, but I finally got to talk to Quinn last night after three.”

  “That’s quite the short night. You ready for this?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  The helicopter ride is faster than a car, but really, we’re just cutting short all the traffic lights. We arrive at the Downtown Manhattan Heliport in less than an hour. It then takes us another hour to navigate the downtown traffic, so between all the other prep we make it just in time.